never do you no harm
by jkrockin
Summary: Shameless, shameless fluff with a boombox and a Beatles song, continuing my grand tradition of naming stories after song lyrics. I'm not even sorry.


Apparently I write fic again, now. Shameless, shameless fluff with a boombox and a Beatles song, continuing my grand tradition of naming stories after song lyrics. I'm not even sorry.

Kurt's only just sat down with his skincare products when he hears it. His street is usually pretty quiet- their new house is in a nice neighbourhood- so it's suddenly, shockingly loud, the noise that cuts through the air. It takes Kurt a couple of seconds to recognise it. Who the hell is blasting the Beatles at this hour?

He puts down the bottle of pre-cleanser and goes over to the window. Twitching aside the curtain, he peers down at the street. A black pickup is parked under the streetlight; there's a huge 80's-style boombox in the tray, and leaning against the cab is David Karofsky.

What.

Kurt pushes the window open and leans out, staring. That's definitely Dave- he's not wearing his letterman, but even in his awful plaid lumberjack vest he's kind of distinctive- and that's definitely Dave's crappy truck, that's _Oh! Darling_ playing, and Dave is outside Kurt's house with a boombox.

Dave spots Kurt hanging out of the window, and gives a little wave.

Kurt slams the window closed and storms out of his room, not bothering to be quiet. By the time he gets downstairs he's got a pretty good head of righteous indignation going, ready to bitch Dave out royally for- for whatever the hell he thinks he's doing. He leaves the door open behind him as he stomps across the yard. Dave watches him come, seemingly unperturbed by Paul McCartney wailing behind him.

"This is a very poorly thought out prank," Kurt says. "There's no audience, for a start. Other than all my neighbours."

"This would be a really shitty prank," Dave agrees. "If I was joking." He slides his hands into his vest pockets, and gives Kurt a long, slow look, up and down. Kurt shivers, crossing his arms.

"Do you mind turning that down?" Kurt says. "It's kind of late."

Dave shrugs agreeably, and tweaks a knob on the boombox; the cacophony quiets to a low murmur behind him. They stare at one another for another long moment. "Nice pajamas," Dave says.

"Yes, they are," Kurt replies snottily. They are- pale blue with navy piping, some of his favourites- but they're also _pajamas_, and he's _outside_. He's entitled to be a little defensive. "You're outside my house with a boombox."

"Yup." Dave nods.

"With a boombox," Kurt repeats, a little louder. "Playing a Beatles song."

"For a smart guy, you can't take a hint for shit," Dave remarks. He waves a hand at the boombox behind him. "This is a romantic gesture. I like you, and I want to take you to dinner."

Kurt boggles. "You like me."

"And I want to take you to dinner," says Dave. "On a date."

"A date," Kurt echoes, faintly.

"Last time I asked you to have dinner with me, you brought your PFLAG folder and we talked budgets all night," says Dave. Kurt opens his mouth to speak, but Dave puts a hand up, shushing him. "I asked you out to a movie; you invited Mercedes and Tina, who invited the rest of glee club. Subtle got me nowhere, so: would you like to go on a gay date with me?"

Kurt blinks, brain stuck several steps back in the conversation. "Since when do you like me?"

"Don't play dumb." Dave rolls his eyes. "Why do you think I kissed you?"

"That was- you were confused," Kurt stammers, shifting awkwardly. "I was in your face, and out. It wasn't about me."

"The hell it wasn't." Dave gives him another of those looks- this one, Kurt feels all the way down to his toes. "It's been weeks since you broke up with Eyebrows, so I'm not being insensitive or whatever. If it's a no, then it's a no, but I'm done playing it cool, Kurt. I like you. I want to date you."

Kurt stares. He takes in Dave- nervous, hands in his pockets, but curiously defiant. Standing his ground. It's a good look for him.

"This isn't Peter Gabriel," he murmurs, "and I don't recall us doing it in your car."

Dave shrugs. "It's a symbolic gesture, not a direct analogy."

"Yes," Kurt says, before he can think about it. "Yes. I will go on a date with you."

Dave's grin is bright, his face opening up. Happy is an even better look on him than defiant. Lots of things are good looks on him; happy, confident, geeky, sleepy. Dave looks good to Kurt most of the time, now he thinks about it- looks big and strong, with soft eyes. The way Dave's smiling at him, now, makes Kurt feel pretty good about saying yes.

"Not Breadstix," Dave says. "I'm thinking this little Greek place. Or Japanese."

"Ooh, fancy. Careful, someone might think you're into me," says Kurt, grinning.

"I walk you to class," says Dave, grinning back. "If the goddamn beret wasn't clue enough that I'm stupid over you, this might not have been overkill."

Kurt looks at the boombox; he looks at Dave's hands, fisted in his pockets, at the way Dave's biting his lip, and tells him, "I'm about to kiss you."

He moves close, putting a hand on Dave's chest.

"Yeah," Dave breathes. "Okay, you, yeah. Yes."

Kurt kisses him. It's pretty amazing, actually. Dave's mouth is warm, and wet without being sloppy. They fit together, pressing eagerly, the quiet noises Dave makes urging Kurt forward.

"Japanese," says Kurt.

"What?"

"Japanese," Kurt repeats. "Not that I mind Greek. I'd just prefer Japanese."

"Sushi it is," Dave murmurs, watching his lips.

"I'll expect you to wear something nice."

"Noted." Dave curls his hands around Kurt's hips, tugging him closer. "Stop talking."

Humming, Kurt threads his fingers into Dave's hair, and complies.

They make out for long minutes, lazily mapping one another's mouths. When they pause to breathe again, Dave dips his head to nuzzle along Kurt's throat, nose bumping under his jaw. Kurt sighs, tipping his head back. Finding himself staring at the boombox again, he huffs a laugh.

"_Oh! Darling_? Really?"

"You struck me as a McCartney guy." Dave presses a kiss, open-mouthed, to the cord of muscle under Kurt's ear. He bites down softly. "I considered _This Boy_."

"You really are more of a Lennon guy," Kurt muses, breathlessly. "Good choice, anyway."

They kiss again; softer, but still generally awesome. Dave's cheek is hot and prickly with stubble under Kurt's hand, and his hands are broad and warm on Kurt's lower back. Kurt is so distracted by the surprising awesomeness of making out with Dave that he almost doesn't notice the interrupting cough from the porch behind them. Dave pulls back, clearing his throat, and says "Hey, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt turns, face flushing. His dad is leaning against the frame of the open door, arms folded. His expression is amused, but not entirely friendly.

"Evening, David," he says. "How're things?"

To his credit, Dave keeps one hand on the small of Kurt's back, and his voice is steady when he replies. "Pretty good, sir."

Burt nods. "How's your dad doing?"

"He's good, sir. Doing well."

"Glad to hear that. You tell him I said hi."

"I'll do that, sir," says Dave, nodding. He's still blushing hotly, but he's remarkably composed. Burt gives him- gives the two of them, the way they're still standing together- a long, steady, considering stare, then turns to go back inside.

"Oh my god," Kurt breathes. "While slightly horrifying, I think that was Dad-approval."

"That was you have ten minutes before I come back out there," Burt calls back, not turning around, "and Dave's expected for dinner on Friday."

"Thanks, Mr Hummel," says Dave. There's no reply. Kurt tucks himself back into the warmth of Dave, looping his arms around his neck. Dave brings a hand up to card through Kurt's hair. They smile at each other. "Ten minutes, he said?"

"Ten minutes," Kurt laughs, leaning in.


End file.
